The Fairy Mythology. Thomas Keightley

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СКАЧАТЬ to the industry of Mr. Thiele, who has been indefatigable in collecting the traditions of his native country, we are furnished with ample accounts of the Trolls; and the following legends will fully illustrate what we have written concerning them.[158]

      We commence with the Swedish ballads of the Hill-kings, as in dignity and antiquity they take precedence of the legends.

Sir Thynne.

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      And it was the knight Sir Thynnè,

       He was a knight so grave;

       Whether he were on foot or on horse,

       He was a knight so brave.[159]

      And it was the knight Sir Thynnè

       Went the hart and the hind to shoot,

       So he saw Ulva, the little Dwarf's daughter,

       At the green linden's foot.

      And it was Ulva, the little Dwarf's daughter,

       Unto her handmaid she cried,

       "Go fetch my gold harp hither to me,

       Sir Thynnè I'll draw to my side."

      The first stroke on her gold harp she struck,

       So sweetly she made it ring,

       The wild beasts in the wood and field

       They forgot whither they would spring.

      The next stroke on her gold harp she struck,

       So sweetly she made it ring,

       The little gray hawk that sat on the bough,

       He spread out both his wings.

      The third stroke on her gold harp she struck,

       So sweetly she made it ring,

       The little fish that went in the stream,

       He forgot whither he would swim.

      Then flowered the mead, then leafed all,

       'Twas caused by the runic lay;[160] Sir Thynnè he struck his spurs in his horse, He no longer could hold him away.

      And it was the knight Sir Thynnè,

       From his horse he springs hastily,

       So goeth he to Ulva, the little Dwarf's daughter,

       All under the green linden tree.

      "Here you sit, my maiden fair,

       A rose all lilies above;

       See you can never a mortal man

       Who will not seek your love."

      "Be silent, be silent, now Sir Thynnè,

       With your proffers of love, I pray;

       For I am betrothed unto a hill-king,

       A king all the Dwarfs obey.

      "My true love he sitteth the hill within,

       And at gold tables plays merrily;

       My father he setteth his champions in ring,

       And in iron arrayeth them he.

      "My mother she sitteth the hill within,

       And gold in the chest doth lay;

       And I stole out for a little while,

       Upon my gold harp to play."

      And it was the knight Sir Thynnè,

       He patted her cheek rosie:

       "Why wilt thou not give a kinder reply,

       Thou dearest of maidens, to me?"

      "I can give you no kinder reply:

       I may not myself that allow;

       I am betrothed to a hill-king,

       And to him I must keep my vow."

      And it was Thora, the little Dwarf's wife,

       She at the hill-door looked out,

       And there she saw how the knight Sir Thynnè,

       Lay at the green linden's foot.

      And it was Thora, the little Dwarf's wife,

       She was vext and angry, God wot:

       "What hast thou here in the grove to do?

       Little business, I trow, thou hast got.

      "'Twere better for thee in the hill to be,

       And gold in the chest to lay,

       Than here to sit in the rosy grove,[161] And on thy gold harp to play.

      "And 'twere better for thee in the hill to be,

       And thy bride-dress finish sewíng,

       Than sit under the lind, and with runic lay

       A Christian man's heart to thee win."

      And it was Ulva, the little Dwarf's daughter,

       She goeth in at the hill-door:

       And after her goeth the knight Sir Thynnè,

       Clothed in scarlet and fur.

      And it was Thora, the little Dwarf's wife,

       Forth a red-gold chair she drew:

       Then she cast Sir Thynnè into a sleep

       Until that the cock he crew.

      And it was Thora, the little Dwarf's wife,

       The five rune-books she took out;

       So she loosed him fully out of the runes,

       Her daughter had bound him about.

      "And hear thou me, Sir Thynnè,

       From the runes thou now art free;

       This to thee I will soothly say,

       My daughter shall never win thee.

      "And I was born of Christian kind,

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